


The Best Property of All

by Jadesfire



Category: The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Gen, Laundry fic, The Defenders (Marvel TV) Spoilers, flashfic, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: There are some messes that you need help to clear up. Laundry isn't usually one of them.





	The Best Property of All

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally on Tumblr](http://jadesfire.tumblr.com/post/166779691065/coffeenonsense-tbh-i-would-watch-a-series-of)
> 
> Set at a non-committal point after _The Defenders_.

_"We take care of our health, we lay up money, we make our roof tight and our clothing sufficient, but who provides wisely that he shall not be wanting the best property of all -- friends?"_  
Ralph Waldo Emerson 

"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this." Jessica turned in a slow circle, apparently taking in the apartment as a whole. "Another earthquake? Your pictures are still wonky, by the way."

"Thanks for that. It's absolutely something I care about." Matt resisted the urge to put his hands on his hips, and ran one through his hair instead. "I really don't have anything else going on right now except worrying if my hoards of visitors have to lean a little."

He couldn't hear it, but he could feel Jessica's unimpressed stare burning a hole in his forehead for a moment. Then she nodded, just once. "Fair enough, I guess. So. Were you burgled? Were there more ninjas here that you decided not to tell us about? Or did you just lose your temper with a chest of drawers?"

Giving in, Matt dropped into the nearest chair, waving his hands a little helplessly at the mess. "Foggy kept the apartment going, but it meant he had to put all my stuff in storage."

"You're lucky he didn't just sell it. That's what normally happens to dead people's stuff."

Mat cocked his head without thinking, and before he could pretend not to have hard the undertone in Jessica's voice. Instead, he decided to opt for just ignoring it.

"I guess. And at least he left most things alone, apart from that." He gestured behind him to where the rolls of blackout blinds hung in front of the windows. According to Karen they looked ugly as anything, and they had a weird plastic smell that meant he was going to have to get rid of them at some point.

Jessica turned to follow his gesture, lifting her head to take them in. "Because?"

"Easier to rent on AirBnB."

There was a moment of silence as Jessica processed that and, to her credit, managed not to laugh. "Paid the rent, I assume."

"Pretty much." As well as the blinds, Matt could still smell the various types of take out that people had brought back here, the deodorants and perfumes and hair gels, the bodies that had occupied his space. Still, at least it _was_ still his. "And most stuff is easy enough to put back where it's meant to be. It's not like I really had that much, and the suit was-" 

He broke off as Jessica sucked in a deeper-than-normal breath, probably to offset the sudden leap of her heartbeat. 

Matt pressed his lips together for a second before going on. "Anyway, most stuff's back where it's supposed to be. But clothes? Clothes are hard."

"Yeah, I've always thought it must be tough for you, being such a fashion icon." 

It was Matt's turn for the unimpressed expression. "You try buying ties when you have to trust the shop assistant's taste."

"That would explain a lot." He heard the rustle of silk as Jessica rummaged through the heap he'd made. "I guess that explains all the white shirts."

"Most dyes change the texture of the fibres. Black's the easiest to identify, and greys aren't too bad. White shirts don't make me feel like I've got sandpaper against my neck all day."

"Silk too," Jessica said. She'd moved on to the t-shirts, and Matt could hear her running the fabric through her fingers, as though trying to feel it for herself. "So what's the problem?"

"Storage. And sorting." Matt held up his still-healing hands. "It all smells funny from having been packed away so long. And I can't tell colors so well when I can't feel them."

"Okay, first up? Colors is not a word I would use in this context. Standing in your wardrobe is like being at a Film Noir festival. Second up, you ask, you moron." She balled up the t-shirt and threw it at him, hard and fast enough that he barely caught it in time. "Third up, I assume this building actually has a laundry? Everything else about this place is ridiculous, so I'm assuming the washers are gold-plated or something."

Despite himself, Matt huffed something close to a laugh, turning the t-shirt in his hands as Jessica had done, feeling the fibres catch minutely on each scab. "Yeah, there's a laundry. Basement."

"Okay then." There was the slightest creak of leather as Jessica pulled her jacket off, throwing it onto the sofa. "We'll get a couple of loads going, then put away everything that doesn't need it. This isn't rocket science, Murdock, geez. It's not even the hardest thing you've done this month."

 _That would be coming back from the dead_ , she didn't say, and Matt pretended he didn't hear. 

"Sure," he said. "Thanks." 

It was possible, if unlikely, that Jessica had been going to say "you're welcome." Equally possible was that she'd been going to point out yet another thing that he was being stupid about. But she wasn't the only one who could throw t-shirts with surprising accuracy, and by the time she'd untangled herself again, Matt was gathering up a pile socks.

"It's fine," Jessica said, dropping the shirt back onto the floor. "I had been going to tell you about the novelty ties Nelson apparently added to your collection. Now, I think I'll just let you guess." 

"As long as none of them have naked girls on, I think I'll live."

"Mmm-hmmm." The sound was non-committal enough not to be a denial or confirmation, and as her heartbeat was still a little raised from the surprise of getting a t-shirt to the face, Matt couldn't tell if she was lying or not. Which Jessica probably knew.

In the silence, Matt had the distinct impression that he was playing a game of chicken with a much more experienced opponent. 

He grinned. Maybe he'd survive doing his laundry after all.


End file.
